


stay alive reprise

by Killjoy013



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Death, My boy is dead, philip hamilton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 14:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killjoy013/pseuds/Killjoy013
Summary: The retelling of Philip Hamilton's death.





	stay alive reprise

Philip Hamilton numbly pulls his hand from the bloody spot on his side. Stares at the hand. It's warm and sticky, the crimson red contrasting against his pale skin. Then the pain hits him full force and the realization of what exactly happened, _oh my God, I'm gonna die._ Whatever function his legs had disappears. Flashes of the boat ride come in and out of eyesight, the sound of yelling, the hands gripping him tightly, the rush of water and creak of the oars and the boat as it fights against the current.

 'Actions have consequences' Ma always told him, whether it was after he accidentally burned himself or scraped his knee running up the stairs. Her eyes would soften as they gazed upon his face, usually streaked with tears or red with anger. She would calm her son with counting. One two three four five. Un deux trois quatre cinq. Six seven eight. Six sept huit. He would breath in on ever even and out odd. Philip's heart beat would slow and his face would return to its normal shade. Nine ten. Neuf dix. Ma would take another over exaggerated breath, then (and this was his favorite part) looking at her son, would smile, her laugh lines and her cheekbones prominent. Phillip would giggle and try to out smile his mother.  


"-but the wound was already infected when he arrived." His doctor warned someone.  The sound of a door crashing into the wall make the the nineteen year old turn his head painfully. And in storms his father. "Philip." He says lowly, like a prayer. His father looks like a wreak, the face sullen and sunken in. The shadows underneath his eyes seemed to grow as he gazes on his eldest. "Pa!" He wants to shout but it turns into a whimper. 'He needs to know what I did.' His words force out of him as a wheeze and are slurred but they come out. "I did exactly as you said, Pa. I held my head up high, high." He utters, recalling the sky. The dawn was always so pretty to him, the colours blending into a light blue making him yearn to touch the sky, to keep a piece of that color with him everywhere.

Pa just hushes him, trying to persevere his strength. Somewhere along the line, everything stopped hurting. "Even before we got to ten-I was aiming for the sky. I was aiming for the sky." Philip continues, his growing glassy and unfocused. 'They need to know.' "No!" Eliza Schuyler Hamilton wailed, her voice muffled by hands clamping over her mouth. She seemingly just materialized out of thin air. Tears spring up instantly. 'Ma was never a crier.' His mother begans to ramble, a rarity and his dad cuts her off. 'Is the world ending?' He wants to joke but something in him says 'No, but you are.' And just like that, the world sharpens and dulles.

Philip doesn't run from this feeling, in fact, he embraces it and stares at his parents. To burn an image of them in the back of his eyelids so when Philip closes them, they'll be there with him, to guide him. "Mom, I’m so sorry for forgetting what you taught me." He confessed, one hand gripping his father roughly and the other tenderly stoking his mother's hair, smoothing it back to get a better look. 'This is not how I want to be remembered' Philip coughs, red staining the front of his shirt, the one aunt Angelica got him. He tries again, almost feeling his life seep out of him in the form of the red liquid.

He recalls piano lessons. The innocence of it. The bliss of learning and impressing his mother. "You would put your hands on mine-" He starts but Ma shushes him and finishes "You changed the melody every time." Her voice lighten a shade. Her eyes soften, a hint of a smile on that slightly weathered face. Such a amazing face. The world blanks out, but they can't know that just yet. "Ha. I would always change the line" He quivers and manages a twitch of his lips. He repeats himself, for now apparent reason other than to remember what his own voice sound like.

The spots around his sight grow more and more. His breathing quickens. His organized mind evolves in a cluster of  'Oh my God. Oh my God. This is it. Thisisit. This. Is. It. I'm so sorry. Mom and Dad, I'm so sorry.' "-Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf" her soft shaking voice soothes him.  "Un deux trois quatre. C-cinq six sept huit neuf." He chokes out, trying to regulate his breathing, but this isn't a scraped up knee and Philip can't just wish this away. The glassy look shifts into a blank one, but he can force out one last line.

"Un deux trois…" That is the last thing Philip Hamilton,  the eldest child of Alexander and Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton ever utters. Gravity untangles Philip's hand from the sobbing woman's hair. "Good. Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept," She sobs, clutching him tighter as the body goes limp. 'No. Not my boy, my son, my beautiful son.' Takes a breath and continues "Huit neuf. Sept huit neuf-, Sept huit…"

Gone.

He's gone.

Moments before Eliza falls apart. Before her wails echoes throughout the almost empty house.  

**Author's Note:**

> My fic on here. Feedback is important!


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